In Her Shadow
by nh09jrb
Summary: One shot drabble. A brief attempt to suggest more to Anora than ambition and ruthlessness!


_Bioware own all_.

* * *

The screams were the worst.

Night terrors in the deepest depths of the night.

She lay by his side and listened as the relived terror was conveyed in each cry. He would not talk of what he dreamt of but it had occurred often enough for her to guess. Each time it happened, in his desperate panic he would start awake and reach out for the comforting warmth of the body which lay next to him. Yet as his fingers grazed across her skin, he would recoil as if fearful of what he had found. Or failed to find.

Each time it shocked her how his reaction caused an unbidden stab of regret. The urgency in the way he tried to catch hold of the one he sought in the middle of the night contrasted with the formality with which he would deliberately turn to her in bed. Then, there was no warmth to his touch. No relief to be found in their intimacy. It was always only a duty to be performed.

Now as he wrestled with the ghosts in his dream, the man beside her started to toss and turn while she continued to lie still. Whether the darkness she stared into was immediately in front of her nose or nearer the ceiling, she did not know. It made little difference.

His behaviour should have made little difference. Cailan had had his mistresses. Yet she had always known that he had only sought from his hussies what she had refused to give. But she had since discovered that it was one thing to withhold her love; it was another to know that that same love was neither looked for nor expected. More than that, it was not wanted. She was not wanted.

She had gradually come to understand that the one beside her was a good man and it had become clear that he was an acceptable King. It was true he lacked the talent for political nuance which came so easily to her. And yet his easy nature and good humour gave him the common touch she lacked. Together, they saw to it that Ferelden flourished.

It should have been enough but too late she had come to realise that power alone was a poor bedfellow.

Still she could not bring herself to seek his affection. But the rare occasions when she had succeeded in making him laugh were memories she replayed over and over. To know that for a single moment she had stepped out of the shadow of the woman who had gone before gave her hope that perhaps they could grow to be at ease with one another. Not happy. And never love. She was no fool. But companionship was surely not too much to ask for. She deserved at least that, didn't she?

But still the rumours persisted of her barrenness. In his desire to do what was right her King had denounced any whispered suggestion that he seek another. Citing the taint within him as reason enough for the lack of an heir, he issued a challenge for those conspiring against his Queen to instead publically call for his removal from the throne. She was torn between gratitude at his loyalty to her and revulsion at her dependency on him.

Then there had been the revelation of Cailan's letter. She had not thought the man capable of such deceit. More accurately, she had not thought the man capable of deceiving her so thoroughly. To be cast aside for an Orlesian whore. To undo all her father had achieved. To have been the sole cause of the oppression which would inevitably have fallen over the country she loved had the marriage to Celene gone ahead.

Yet it was the reality that she had been granted the continuation of power solely on a whim and double-edged agreement which preyed most on her mind. Never had she felt so powerless. It was an unwelcome feeling. To have so little influence over her situation was an affront on all levels but the personal cost was far more excruciating in a way she had not expected. Each day she stood beside her husband and had to endure his searching glances through the crowds. The double takes of pretty young faces. The poorly disguised hope that was still to be realised, if ever. All constant reminders that she was only a representation of the duty he felt so keenly. She understood duty better than anyone. Daughter of Loghain Mac Tir, there was no other who could stand as resolutely as she. Yet lying in the cold marital bed she now found herself in, she began to wonder if there had to be more.

His movements beside her suddenly stilled and she heard the sharp intake of breath as his last cry pulled him from his nightmare. She imagined his eyes flying open as his hand snaked its way towards her beneath the bed linen. She held her own breath as the nightly occurrence played itself out as it always did. There was no change.

And in the silence which followed, both could sense the ghost of _her_ which lay between them.


End file.
